


As Long as Rick is Here

by Pinkclodempathpaper



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxious Morty, Caring Rick, Depressed Morty Smith, Gen, Morty Smith has anxiety, No Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:34:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26013451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkclodempathpaper/pseuds/Pinkclodempathpaper
Summary: Morty’s parents are fighting again.
Relationships: Rick Sanchez & Morty Smith
Comments: 1
Kudos: 135





	As Long as Rick is Here

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS DESCRIPTIONS OF PANIC ATTACKS, VERBAL FIGHTS, CURSING, SOME GORE

Morty heard the shouts of his parents from below him. The house rattled with the force of the stomps and thrown objects.

He was in the same place from when it had started, curled up on his desk chair. He rocked back and forth.

Doing homework was as futile as grasping air; and even if he could, his hands shook too much to write anything legible.

He wished that he could’ve kept an uncaring deminor like Summer, or even cheering the divorce threats on like Rick. Anything was better than the sleepless nights and endless tears. He gave up trying to help, he gave up trying to block out the noise with music or clamping his ears; it only heightened his senses to every vibration that occurred, which left his mind scrounging for every bad thing that could've happened.

“...THIS FUCKING…”

26.

“...SO RETARDED…”

34.

“...A BITCH…”

41.

“...FUCK YOU…”

47.

Nothing felt real anymore. Like he was watching some crappy 3rd person movie starring himself. So each curse word was carefully counted. It was the only way to ground himself when all he could do was listen.

As the numbers grew higher, Morty’s rocking became faster. It would end soon. Once the threat was gone, the hypnotic numbness would shatter. It would leave him bare and vulnerable. The silence would carry a heaviness that crushed Morty’s lungs, suffocating him. Breaking his mind so many times that it left unhealable scars and missing pieces. He wondered that, when everything was finally okay, if there would be anything even left of him.

The clock ticked, the door slammed, and the last hold on sanity Morty had was gone. His own mind was the predator, it jumped on him and tore through his skin leaving his insides showing and intestines hanging out like drying laundry. He didn’t think he would ever get used to this.

Blood pooled into his mouth as he bit back a scream. He didn’t breathe. He needed to wail and cry and punch everything but he couldn’t, he didn’t want anyone to call the cops or something, that would be a pain to explain.

He started to capture an idea, his mom would be passed out from drinking and dad probably left for the night, so he might be able to get into Rick’s sound-proofed garage. He just had to hope that Rick decided to use an actual bed in his own room tonight. Wishful thinking but it was worth a try and better than sitting in his own sloppy misery.

No impact could be heard from Morty’s feet, each step placed deliberately and carefully. _Almost there._

The door was in front of him. He was taking a chance, a plan formulated in his head. If Rick wasn’t in there, he’d do whatever. If he was there, then he’d leave immediately and quietly.

His hand gripped in a fist. The slight sting made from his nails helped him think.

One last deep breath. _In, out._ Morty pushed open the door.

It was empty. A hollowness wormed into his heart. He ignored the part of him that yearned for Rick to hold him and tell him how they were going to defeat his demons together. Rick and Morty, hundred years.

He laid on the cool cement floor. His chest hurt so bad and every cell in his body was 10 times heavier. The absolute lack of any motivation left him brain dead. He’d rather piss himself than try to get up and walk to the bathroom. If this was all he was going to do, it looks like he came down here for nothing.

Was it strange that he felt like laughing more than crying?

A green glow showered the room. Rick was here.

“Who the- What the fuck are you doing here, Morty.” He barely gave the boy a glance, instead starting to settle himself into his desk chair, most likely about to work on some weird invention.

Morty wanted to give some smart retort like ‘being a pancake’ but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t talk, and he couldn’t care less.

“Morty,” Rick repeated more sternly and slowly, “what are you doing here.”

He didn’t want to process sound or movement. Everything was too much. He wished that could go back to his bed.

Rick stood up straight and towered over the boy.

Morty’s dull eyes didn’t twitch.

“Did you drink?”

 _No_.

“Why aren’t you responding to me?”

_I don’t know._

“Did you die or something?”

_I feel like I’m dead._

“Morty, this isn’t fucking funny.”

_It’s not supposed to be._

“Blink three times in a row if you can hear me or some shit like that.”

Morty’s mind halted. He could blink. It seemed simple enough, not too much effort. He fluttered his eyelids once. Annoyance slipped under his skin uncomfortably, he really didn’t want to do reality right now. It was much easier to forget he even existed.

He closed and opened his eyes a second time. His breathing grew more rapid. The surroundings became more prominent. He had the split second urge to look around.

The third time was completed. He didn’t want to do that again. All he wanted to do was to not think and not process. Rick was forcing him to do both.

Rick’s stiff posture deflated significantly from relief. The next demand came at bullet speed.

“Okay, that’s good. Now, blink 3 times if…”

Morty didn’t listen to the rest. The trance was gone. He wanted to go back. _He wanted to go back._

He was all too aware of how his cheeks became wet.

_God fucking dammit, Rick. You always ruin everything._

He was all too aware of his heaving chest.

_No no no no no no no no no no._

He was all too aware of his body shuttering alive and curling in on itself.

_I want to go back. Please don’t make me feel again._

He was all too aware of Rick’s judgmental prying eyes.

_I wish I never left my room._

Nobody had ever seen his shows before, so he hoped that Rick was enjoying it.

It was pathetic. Rick would probably get a new Morty after he finally realized that this one wasn’t worth the effort.

Classic tantrum style, his fists pounded onto the floor as he sobbed. He needed to get out. He needed to escape. He needed to-

“Jesus chirst, Morty.”

Rick started hypothesising immediately. His hands twitched to do something, to be helpful. He paced the same 7 feet. He flitted through possible reasons. Parasite? Illness? Poison?

Like fire was attacking the end of his lab coat, he grabbed plasma, some energy crystals, wires, an empty shell gun design, and a program chip. 30 seconds of fiddling felt like infinity, he would have finished it faster but his hands kept shaking and messing up. But he had it now, a device to scan the body for anything wrong. He pulled the trigger and led the laser down Morty’s frame. He pulled a piece out and plugged it into his computer. He looked to the screen and waited for the loading sign to fuck off.

_No detectable immediate dangers._

Was it broken? There was obviously something wrong.

He pushed a button and a more detailed report popped up. This part showed non-immediate threats but still noteworthy.

_Increased adrenaline release._

_Heightened blood sugar._

_Increased cortisol release._

Ah. So Morty was having a panic attack. He grimaced. He knew how much of a bitch they were. A bit of guilt tugged at his sleeve for not returning to his lab sooner, he didn’t know how long Morty had been there.

Whatever Rick did, he had to do it carefully.

“Hey… Morty, buddy…”

Morty buried his face and hugged himself as much as his weak limbs let him. He didn’t want to face Rick. He didn’t want their adventures to end.

The small response was enough for Rick to keep talking.

“I’m going to need you to breathe with me, Morty, alright?”

Was Rick trying to help him?

_No, he probably just wants to shut you up. You’re annoying him._

“Can I touch you?” Rick spoke softly, he didn’t want to alarm Morty.

Maybe he does care.

_You don’t deserve his touch. You never do anything right, you don’t deserve love._

Whatever ghost possessed him in that moment be damned. Morty’s hand reached out to Rick. It was an invite.

Rick brushed Morty’s hand, and when he got no negative reaction, he rubbed his thumb into the boy's palm gently. His other hand swept neatly through his tangled brown hair and caressed his warm scalp.

While the thoughts and anxieties might never go away, and while he may never stop crying, at least Rick was there.

Even if everything was just a manipulative act, Morty would be okay with that.

Just as long as Rick was here.


End file.
